Touche
by Starchild524
Summary: KJ. Joren scores a wound on Kel.


Author's Note: written for Challenge 3 of the Seanfhocal Circle at TDD. Sort of. I'm not posting it there; it's too long for the criteria. But, for what it's worth, it was that K/J thread in the Tortall forum that this is associated with, really. And I should also acknowledge The Blind Assassin, because reading her Fallen Idols first got me to thinking about the ship. And believe me, I never _imagined_ I would ever ship K/J. I still certainly don't _approve_ of it; it's just interesting in fanfic. Well, here's my take on it. Reviews are appreciated. Flames are only to be expected, though not adored. 

Oh, and as to the title – stupid digital facilities of ff.n can't do accents! *smoldering*

Touché

She denied it to herself as long as she could. In battle, after all, a wound interfered with one's performance only as one let it, didn't it? Surely if she blocked off the possibilities, turned a cold shoulder, she could go on with her life as usual. 

Only _this_ wound was not the open, honest kind of pain that she could bear. It was an insidious, sly plague laid upon her, unawares; a parasite that for the most part lay in silence but covertly ate away at her, unavoidable, immutable. The days and weeks fell away, counting down to the inevitable. 

After bearing it alone for agonizing weeks, she found no other choice but to confront the matter openly. She resented admitting it to him. She rose that morning with a resolution, and went about her day in mechanical apathy until the opportunity arose – she found him at the practice courts, watching a handful of squires fencing from afar. His flaxen hair gleamed in the buttery sunlight; his icy eyes glinted like jewels in that perfectly sculpted face as she approached to stand a few feet away, arms crossed in a confrontational stance. 

"We need to talk," she told him without preamble. 

He took his leisure in answering. "Talk is a luxury, Mindelan, not a necessity."

"For one who can't get an intelligent thought out of his mouth, I can understand that. Unfortunately, I need to talk to you. Now. And alone." 

He sneered at her, lounging against the fence. "My, my – the imperturbable lady knight seems a tad desperate to me. What crisis so dire as to make you come begging to the man you hate, milady?"

Kel gritted her teeth. "Spare me your gabble, Stone Mountain. I wouldn't put up with listening to you if I had any other choice. Let's go." She jerked her head towards the palace. 

He inclined his head mockingly. "At your disposal, Mindelan." Straightening, he followed Kel's rigid, swift footsteps through the palace and up to her room. 

"Well?" he said when she'd closed the door. "What might it be that would compel you to seek my attention?" A smug, mocking smile stained his strong yet finely carved features. 

Kel drew a breath, trying to keep herself under control. She looked away briefly, then returned her gaze to those icy blue eyes. "I'm three weeks late."

He raised his eyebrows. "Come again?"

"I _said – _I'M THREE WEEKS FUCKING LATE!" she yelled. "Can that get _through _your thick skull –"

"Shut up!" he snapped. "Unless you want the whole palace to know, try and keep yourself under control!"

She did, though it was hard. She yanked a necklace out of her pocket and shoved it at him. "See this?" It was a metal pendant in the shape of a foreign rune, the brassy shine darkened with tarnish. Kel had worn it around her neck for the time they'd been involved, to ward off pregnancy. Now, she knew, it had no more use than a stone plucked off the ground and strung on a chain. 

_"Magic charms don't tarnish," _she told him hotly. "In other words, the healer I got it from ripped me off. It's a fucking dud."

He examined the charm casually, dangling it from his fingers. "That it is." He spoke with infuriating leisure. 

"So," she hissed. "I don't suppose you can deduce what this might mean?" 

He snorted contemptuously. "I'm not _that_ clueless, Mindelan." He tossed the pendant back to her. 

She glared at him. _"Well?"_

Joren shrugged. "You tell me."

"What do you _mean,_ 'you tell me'"? Her voice rose again. 

He laughed. "What do you want me to do? What, were you expecting me to sweep you off your feet here? Declare my – undying devotion?" 

She gave a sharp, heavy huff. "You think you can just ignore this? Wake _up,_ Stone Mountain. The clock is ticking. Can't keep a secret forever."

_"You _can't keep a secret forever," he corrected, and smiled coldly. 

Kel's words froze in her mouth. 

He shook his head, smiling. "Mindelan…." His voice was almost kind. "Simply put – you seem to think I care." 

"It's your _child,"_ she breathed, then flinched at the concession. 

"Sentiment, lady knight." 

"Excuse me?"

His features twisted in disdain. "It's not as if we fuck out of _love,_ is it, Mindelan?" 

"Not while I'm breathing," Kel spat.

"Yes, well, it's not as though I'm – responsible for your _problems._" 

_"My _problems?" she shouted. 

"Keep your _voice _down!" he snapped. "Yes, _your _problems. You're the _girl_ here, in case you hadn't noticed –"

_"So?"_

She was too tall for Joren to look down his nose at her, but he managed quite pungent disdain nonetheless. "Well," he said lightly. _"I'm _not the one who's going to swell up, happily." His pale eyes glittered. "Tell me – what does it mean to you, that people might know?" He paused as she gaped in fury. "D'you want them to think you're guarding your maidenly virtue? Are you _ashamed _to be fucking me, lady knight?" 

_"You –" _She grabbed his collar in one hand and planted a right hook on his cheekbone. 

He jerked back but grabbed her wrists, panting – and suddenly they were staring directly into each other's eyes, faces less than a foot apart. Rage coursed through Kel, but she didn't struggle. She found herself torn between screaming urges to pound him or to fuck him – show him she could more than hold her own on the battlefield or in bed, girl or no. That, after all, was what she had set out to do, why she returned time and again to his bed. This slimy, swaggering, stuck-up _worm…_she needed to teach him a lesson. 

Only, she realized with a jolt, he had just knocked _her_ up. They had decided to settle their differences in bed, sure enough, and she had come out the worse for it. He had forced something on her – the thing that had literally been eating at her for three weeks (longer?). He had scored a wound on her. 

_Touché…._

It occurred to Kel then, quite strongly, that she never wanted to find herself in bed with Joren again. 

She twisted out of his grasp. "Don't you _touch_ me," she spat, feeling nothing but repulsion. 

He eyed her coolly, despite the bruise spreading under his left eye. "Second thoughts, hm, Mindelan? You seem eager enough most nights."

She yanked the door open. _"Get – out. _Now."

He bowed mockingly and swept from the room. 

Kel slammed the door and sat heavily on the bed, breathing through clenched teeth. The realization weighed on her like a sack of coal, saturated her mind – Joren was ahead of her. He had drawn blood. She ran her hands through her hair, eyes closed, as his words returned to taunt her. _…your_ problems. You're the _girl _here…. _I'm _not the one who's going to swell up…. His message was clear. He denounced her as the subordinate, the inferior – the girl. The weaker sex. There for him to _play _with… her blood boiled. How could this happen? What was worse, she had – she admitted it – expected him to care in at least _some _way, if not in tenderness or compassion, at least to get angry with her or upset that they might be found out – just _something._ He hadn't batted an eyelid. After all, it wasn't his problem – she was the _girl…._

She stood and began pacing furiously. It made her sick to have that… _thing _inside her, drawing off her body. A piece of _him, _planted in her against her will. She ground her teeth. 

And then came to a decision. 

The prospect was a bit frightening. She couldn't shake off the feeling that if she subjected herself to that, she'd never be the same again – that she'd lose something she couldn't regain. But, after all, she had little to lose at this point – only that thing she _wanted _to lose, to cast out of herself.

That very evening, Kel left the palace and headed down to the Middle City, to a decent-looking healing woman's place. Fairly low-class, so she wouldn't worry too much about the news getting out, but not so filthy and primitive she'd fear for her health. She strode in, slapped down a small, fat purse – more than twice the price, to buy their silence as well as their services – and told them what she wanted. They stared for a moment, taking in her warrior's build and noble's clothing, and she stared back, coldly, daring them to comment. They said nothing – she supposed they saw a lot of patients who wanted no comments – and led her into a side room, the head healer with two assistants. Kel wondered at first why they would need three people, but she realized when the healing woman took out her tools and told Kel to relax that they would be necessary to steady her. Or hold her down. 

It hurt worse than most things she'd experienced in her life – an intimate kind of pain, hence all the more unbearable, as though someone was fucking her and she were helpless. The irony there almost made her laugh – tough going in, tough coming out, she supposed. And yet, she took a sort of savage pleasure in it (rather akin to what she had with Joren, so it was fitting, wasn't it?): she was rinsing her hands of it, ridding herself of what he'd put on her. She'd prove to him that she was a worthy opponent, that she wouldn't let this keep her down. 

Kel bled for a week, during which time she kept largely to her rooms and told anyone who asked that she wasn't feeling well, which really wasn't a lie. But what did it matter? She was living a lie. She stayed away from most of her family and friends now, for fear that they'd somehow know she was involved with Joren, as though he left some sort of stigma or scent on her. Never in her wildest dreams – before, when she was younger and pure-minded, a noble distaff of Tortall – had she imagined she would take the man she hated to bed. Perhaps Joren was right – she was ashamed, in a way, to be sleeping with him. The Keladry of Mindelan she'd once been wouldn't use her body to address old grievances, or prove her worth (on _all_ planes; that was why she did it). But she had. And now, she realized, she wouldn't leave him if she had the chance. Leaving him would be surrender; he would sneer at her with those beautiful, cruel ice-blue eyes of his, and gloat over his conquest. He would forever prize the knowledge that he had bested her, put her in her place, as a _female. _That she would never give him; she couldn't, any more than she could throw down her sword on the practice courts and say the words. 

_I yield._

Yes, she would return to him, as surely as the sun rose each morning. She would tend her wound and then step back onto the court, prepared to take on her opponent – this man she hated, to whom she would never willingly concede a weakness or shortcoming. Yes, he had bruised her, but she had recovered and would return to face him again, to assert her fortitude and resolution. 

And so, when the blood and cramps had passed, she found her feet taking her to his carved mahogany door, armed with a new sterility charm from a healer she trusted. She rapped twice on the door as she had always done – and, she wondered fleetingly, how long would she continue to do so? Would she _ever_ leave? 

The door swung open. He stood there, framed in the arch, luminous hair curling over his forehead, icy eyes trained on her.

"So, Mindelan," he said after a moment. "You're back."

Kel smiled coolly and stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. "Good to see you again too, Stone Mountain."


End file.
